


I'll Put in a Good Word

by AdotNonymous



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Lil hooded figure, M/M, Night Vale Dog Park, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdotNonymous/pseuds/AdotNonymous
Summary: Cecil finds a little hooded creature outside of the station. They become good friends.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Cecil Palmer & Hooded Figure(s), Cecil Palmer & Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	I'll Put in a Good Word

“So please, if you are the individual who replaced every single one of John Peters’ (you know, the farmer) pumpkins with beheaded geese, please return the pumpkins, and take the geese back to the power plant, where a vague-yet-threatening government could put them to good use. With that, crawl back into the slimy holes from which you came. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”  
Cecil stood up and stretched, opening some cat food and bringing it to Khoshekh, who purred excitedly. Throwing on his coat, he stepped out into the freezing air of the desert night. Strolling out into the parking lot, he stumbled over a quivering object, quickly righting himself. He looked for what he had tripped over, and found… something. It was small, and had four legs, and a tail, and was completely shrouded in a black cloak, complete with a hood with nothing beyond it. Simply void.  
Cecil kneeled down, and let the little feller sniff his hand. The creature turned away and sneezed, sending a spray of baby eyes onto the floor. Ah, Cecil mused. So that was why all the babies born the past couple weeks had been eyeless.  
“Thanks, little guy.” Cecil pet the hooded figure, then collected all the eyes into a plastic bag. From then on, {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} became the newest addition to the station’s pets. Khoshekh and it got along well, even when it would steal Khoshekh’s eyes after they fought over food. Everyone at the station came to love the little thing, and treat it like family. {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} became loved.  
One night, when Cecil was walking past the dog park (which he wasn’t acknowledging), {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} on a leash behind him, a hooded figure stepped out in front of him. Cecil pretended it wasn’t there. The hooded figure reached out a long, bony, finger, and Cecil was drowning in ice. The cold air around him seemed to solidify, and he couldn’t resist as the solid air shoved him. He took a step forward, then another. The figure pointed at {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence}, and curled the finger back towards itself. A universal symbol.  
Give me it.  
Cecil violently shook as he picked up {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} and started to hand it over. He tried to fight, pushing back. Slowly, the solid air began to hissed away. He squeezed through a gap in the solid gas, then scooped up {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} and ran. He smacked into more invisible barriers, and felt them close in. His brows furrowed in concentration as in one smooth motion, he kicked off an invisible barrier, tearing a long gash in his arm as he barely sailed over the towering fence and into the dog park.  
Cecil stood in an empty plain. All around him was grass, made out of eyes. They all turned towards him. The ground was all lips, squishing around. And the clouds. The clouds were made of breath, raining down noses. And right behind him, Cecil could hear the shrieks of an old woman, surrounded by the things she could never have.  
Cecil tried to run, but he was exhausted. He couldn’t die here. Who would bring the news to the people of Night Vale? Certainly not one of the interns, they wouldn’t last a day. If he died here, who would take care of Khoshekh and {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence}? And what would Carlos think? Perfect, beautiful, Carlos, with his perfect, beautiful coat, and his perfect, beautiful hair, tragically shorn away by the villainous Telly. Who would be there to tell Carlos about their town’s rich history, and change the subject to his fondness for ice cream sandwiches every time he asked about non city council-approved subjects?  
Cecil struggled to his feet, nearly keeling over from the horrid slice in his arm. He walked and walked, {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} under his arm, but his surroundings never changed. The clouds seemed to moved with him. Every blade of grass was the same length, the moon stood straight up in the sky. Cecil felt his life slowly dripping out of the deep cut. The cut. Blood. Cecil turned around. No blood coated the grass behind him. He looked down. His feet weren’t moving. He hadn’t been walking. Shakily, he took his first real step. The field dissolved away, and he stood at the other side of the dog park, no hooded figure in sight. The bad news, however, is that several mysterious people in black suits were currently holding him at gunpoint.  
A gun went off. The bullet sailed towards {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence}. Cecil knew he was supposed to be the hero, he was supposed to block the bullet, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t muster up the courage, and his pet was going to die. The bullet sailed under the creature’s hood. It showed no reaction. The people in suits blinked. Then, {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} coughed. The figures screamed, their hands flinging up to their face, clawing at their eyes. Their eyes that weren’t there. Their screams dissolved into quiet sobs, then silence. Streams of blood trickled out of their skull.  
{Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} looked up at Cecil. Cecil looked down at {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence}. Its limbs exploded, spraying black liquid everywhere. The liquid burned through the sidewalk, and the corpses, but none of it touched Cecil. Hands and boots emerged from the convulsing, limbless body of {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence}, then arms and legs. The torso fell to pieces, as a humanoid torso emerged from it. The dangling head swelled up, and the hood ripped. Cecil looked {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} in the eyes.  
His friend put up its hood, then reached out a long, bony hand to Cecil. They shook, and even in the hooded figure’s freezing grip, Cecil felt warmth. Companionship, if you will. All around him, hooded figures materialized out of the shadows, closing in. They draped their cloaks around {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence}, and began retreating into the dog park. As the gate squeaked shut, the thunderhead of robes parted, a cloaked head popped out, and Cecil somehow understood the message that his friend was trying to get through to him.  
I’ll put in a good word  
That November 10th, after the Parade of the Mysterious Hooded Figures, Cecil stood outside the stadium. Apparently, the good word had got through to the higher-ups--as Cecil had been told in the form of a terrifying vision of a sea of blood, with the hooded figures floating just above. {Noises of human suffering, then cries for help, then silence} stepped out of the Night Vale Stadium, looking a tiny bit lost. Cecil walked up to it, grinning, and he could only assume that his friend was grinning back.

**Author's Note:**

> "Leave a comment, it'll be worthwhile. You will make a writer smile."
> 
> That poem was written by me, just now, and is a glorified way of begging for comments.


End file.
